


The Daughter He Wanted

by leiaamidala



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:52:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiaamidala/pseuds/leiaamidala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charming wonders if Emma's single sentence whispered in a sleepless daze is true. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Daughter He Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a long while ago, before season two began. I found it recently and decided why not post it. Takes place in Storybrooke, where the Charmings are living in Mary Margaret's apartment (because domestic!Charmings is my favourite thing).

            It's the first thing she's said in the—he looks to the clock and wow, has it really been that long?—time they've spent on the couch together, and she says it in such a tone that she could be pointing out a stain on the rug or bringing up the weather. She sits a couch cushion away, hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table. The both of them have been unable to sleep tonight, and he can see the slight shadows under her eyes. They're Snow's eyes, definitely.

            _I know I’m not the daughter you wanted._

            His impulses tell him to ask why on earth she would say something like that, because of course he wants her, she's Emma fucking... Swan? It's weird; his daughter's named after a bird. Then again, he calls himself by his own slightly egotistical adjective of a nickname and his wife is precipitation.  Emma belongs to a family of unusual names. That's right, _belongs_. She's a part of them.

            But he starts to think, and realizes she could be right.

            Looking back to the day Snow came to him with the news he'd be a father, and the day she insisted it would be a girl and he believed her, he tries to remember what he had envisioned as he lay in bed at night, too anxious to sleep with his mind only on the baby he'd soon get to hold in his arms.

            For starters, he had imagined a little girl with black curls like her mother (he's not sure where Emma got her golden locks). Actually, the image in his head had mostly been a tiny Snow, with a cute button nose and large blue eyes. But her hair colour and which parent she resembled the most was obviously not what mattered to him. What he'd dreamed of doing with this invented child was.

            They'd take walks in the garden, with little Emma running ahead and plucking at leaves and darting around the rosebushes, and he'd look for her and pretend not to notice her peeking out from behind the fountain. He'd teach her how to properly wield a sword, show her how to swing it right (she, of course, would have to be taught by the very best). He had especially looked forward to these lessons, and smiled at the thought of Snow staying close and telling him to be careful, that she was too young to be learning such a skill (when she herself would teach her the art of stealth and show her all the secret passages), and Charming, just give her the wooden sword, she'll cut her arm off!

            And at the end of the day, when she could stand to be awake no longer, he'd rock her gently and carry her to bed, where he'd tuck her in and hum a lullaby.

            He knows that's the daughter he wanted: one that he and Snow had raised together and watched grow up before their very eyes, the one he could guide and teach and protect over the years, like he feels a father ought to.

            No, Emma's not that daughter.

            She is, however, the one whose sheriff's badge rests on the kitchen counter. The one who stuck his favourite sword—he'll have to go and retrieve it from the dark, musty cave later; walking around without it on his belt makes him feel naked—into a dragon's belly. The one who broke a curse over a whole town with just a kiss. She's the baby he carried to the wardrobe, whose blanket he tucked under her chin one last time before shutting her inside as he whispered “find us,” and she's the one who listened.

            He scoots a bit closer to her and puts his hand on her shoulder. She tenses up at the touch, but only for a second, and soon her body seems to relax.

            “You’re the best daughter I could ever ask for.”

            She's not the daughter he wanted, but she's the daughter he wants.


End file.
